


Body in a box

by themuller



Category: 00QAD, James Bond (Classic movies), James Bond (Craig movies), London Spy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themuller/pseuds/themuller
Summary: Bond gets a surprise visit.





	1. Chapter 1

  _Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

_Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run._

_“What about your drink?”_

_Run._

_“You can keep it.”_

_Running._

 

_White noise._

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

_Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run._

_“What about your drink?”_

_Run._

_“You can keep it.”_

_Running._

 

_White noise._

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge…_

 

“She would have wanted you to find a new partner,” Marc Ange said quietly.

They had been sitting in silence since Bond’s return from the graveyard.

“You know that, don’t you?”

Bond watched the dancing shadows on the floor. The bright fire from the fireplace had almost chased away the chill, so deeply imbedded in his bones whenever he visited Tracy’s grave. Marc Ange knew him well. He had waited for him in the small sitting room. Some bread and cold cuts together with a bottle of red wine had been served as soon as Bond had settled in the arm chair across from Marc Ange’s.

“I know. It’s just,” Bond began, but his voice petered out.

Marc Ange took a small sip from his glass. They had all the time in the world, and Bond knew that his father-in-law would let him be if he refused to talk. But Bond wanted to talk. He always wanted to talk when he was back in Corsica. Back, where he felt strangely protected and out of harm’s way. He had returned here, when he needed to get away from Six, needed to stay ‘dead’, needed to heal. It had been his refuge, a secret place far away from the Service and M’s prying eyes. It had been safe heaven from the very first time he had met Tracy and ever since.

“I loved her.”

It was said with an unusual sincerity.

“But more than that, I,” Bond searched for the right words. “I trusted her. I trusted her to trust me. And in turn,” he took a drink from his wine glass. “She was loyal. You know, Tracy would be there, anticipate what I needed to do. But never give herself up as a person.”

Marc Ange cleared his throat.

“She had learned that the hard way. To be herself, despite loving someone.”

After all these years, Marc Ange still hated Vicenzo. Having him  killed in a car accident all those years ago had not really satisfied his need for revenge.

“She was happy. You know, those last months with you.”

Bond smiled, leaning back he closed his eyes. Yes, he remembered. Tracy’s smile, tentative almost shy in the beginning, turning into a brightness that would have his own anxiousness melt away like snow on a sunny day. Her mocking smile, when she once again had to rescue him from one of his cock-ups. Her joy, when skiing downhill or driving like a madman, escaping their pursuers. Sometimes he wondered why it felt like they had experienced a lifetime in the short span of time they had together. Nothing had come close ever since. Not Vesper and most certainly not Madeleine.

He frowned in sudden realisation. His eyes opened and locked with Marc Ange’s. Surprised by unbidden memories, surfacing, and clicking into place. A cocky reply, an awkward joke, light-hearted banter in tense situations. A quiet, steady voice in his ear; a careful, hesitant touch when another deadly gadget was given to him.

“That is why I had to leave.”

Marc Ange looked inquiringly at him. Bond’s mind drifted back in time. Spectre, Skyfall, the National Gallery.

“MI6. Why I went with Madeleine.”

“You don’t make much sense, James. You went with Madeleine because you trusted Teresa?”

“What? No, sorry.” Bond shook his head. “No, I had to leave MI6.”

Comprehension was followed by dread. It would never have worked out. That was why he had to leave.

“I couldn’t risk it. It wasn’t safe, not for–“

Before Bond could finish the sentence, he was interrupted by a commotion from the hall outside the sitting room.

Muffled shouts and scuffling could be heard through the solid door. Bond briefly considered his Walther, but decided against it. Marc Ange’s people would deal with whoever had been foolish enough to intrude unbidden into the territory of the Union Corse.

A few seconds later, a knock on the door was followed by an abrupt opening, with two people stumbling in. One trying to hold the other back.

 “Sorry to disturb you, Draco.”

Roccu, Marc Ange’s second in command, tried to hold on to the intruder, but he was able to wrestle himself free of the grip. Both Bond and Marc Ange had risen from their chairs and looked at the invader, who now stood in the middle of the room.

“Q?”

The black mop of unruly hair, a pair of well-known glasses, and a glare that would have killed lesser men; Q was straightening up, brushing his rumpled cardigan as if that could absolve this eyesore piece of clothing, and finished with rightening his glasses.

“The Corsican mob, Bond? Really?”

Despite the snide remark and put on arrogance, neither Bond nor Marc Ange failed to notice the dishevelled clothes, the dark rings under Q’s eyes, visible despite the frames of his glasses, or the stubbles of a beginning beard in his face. A knowing glance passed between them, and with a small nod at Q, Marc Ange walked out of the room, taking Roccu with him.

“You look like shite.”

It was a statement of fact and Q took a few uncertain steps forward before collapsing into the abandoned arm chair across from Bond. Q’s computer bag had slipped off his shoulder and lay abandoned on the floor. When no retort was coming, curiosity turned into concern. Bond knew that Q was able to stay awake and on a mission for more than twenty-four hours without any signs of fatigue.

“When was the last time you had something to eat?”

“Hm?”

Q was barely keeping his eyes open. Bond stood in front of the chair, looking at the slumped form, now almost covered in the too large cardigan. Q’s hands trembled when he tried to sit up and get his clothes back in order again. With a confused look around, Q seemed to try and figure out where he was. Recognising Bond, his face lit up with a small smile.

“Bond, good,” he said, and continued with utmost concentration, “I need your help. You.”

Q seemed to forget what he had been about to say. A few moments later, the frown on his face vanished and with a lifted finger, pointing at Bond, Q slurred:

“You have to help me find myself.”

With that, he leaned back and was sound asleep before Bond had time to process the words.

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

_Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run._

_“What about your drink?”_

_Run._

_“You can keep it.”_

_Running._

 

_White noise._

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

_Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run._

_“What about your drink?”_

_Run._

_“You can keep it.”_

_Running._

 

_White noise._

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge…_


	2. Chapter 2

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

_Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run._

_“What about your drink?”_

_Run._

_“You can keep it.”_

_Running._

 

_White noise._

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

_Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run._

_“What about your drink?”_

_Run._

_“You can keep it.”_

_Running._

 

_White noise._

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge…_

 

“How did you find me?”

Slowly Q put down his cup of tea. He avoided Bond’s eyes, instead showing a sudden interest in the wooden structure of the kitchen table. They had sat in silence since Q miraculously had found his way down to the kitchen. It had been way past their normal time for breakfast and Marc Ange had excused himself a few minutes before Q trudged into the kitchen. He had been barely awake when he had mumbled a “good morning” to the room at large and taken a seat at the table.  Somehow he had managed to eat what Lesia put in front of him, capturing the cook’s heart when he gobbled down two servings and sheepishly asked for a third. When she had served the tea, Bond had to hide a grin at Q’s deepfelt sigh of content, followed by a lovesick glance at the cook. Now, Q had almost finished a last plate full of pastries and small crêpes. The cup of tea had been placed beside the plate, turned in a certain way, before Q cleared his throat and finally looked at Bond, who indicated his right arm.

“No,” Q shook his head, “no, the smart blood had stopped transmitting just before you,” Q hesitated. “Just before you absconded with Doctor Swann.”

“Absconded?”

“How would you call it? Elope?”

By all means, Q looked angry. Which–surprised Bond. Why would he be angry with Bond leaving MI6? Or was this about the Aston Martin?

“Is this about the car?”

“What? No!” Q looked scandalised. “What are you talking about?”

Better leave it be then, Bond decided. For now.

“So, how did you find me?”

Again, Q avoided his eyes before he seemed to decide on something. With a sight, he sat back and played with the tea cup.

“You remember the night you came back from Skyfall?”

“Vaguely.”

It was Bond’s turn to avoid Q’s glance, squirming a bit in his chair. Even now, Skyfall brought unwanted memories.

“Eve had decided to, well to help you, I guess. We ended up in her flat.”

Bond kept his silence. He had been drunk. Dead drunk when they had made it to Eve’s flat. He remembered the sofa and Eve leaving him alone with Q.

“Eve was too drunk to be any help by then. I got her to bed, and sat with you in her living room. You,” Q swallowed. “You began talking. About the past. Past friends.”

Bond grabbed his mug hard with his right hand, his left was turned into a fist. He controlled his breathing, kept his face a blank, telling mask.

“At first, it was about M, Olivia. Then,” Q took a sip of his tea, no doubt cold by now. “Then you started talking about, about Tracy and, and someone called Alec.”

Bond’s head shot up; now he was looking intently at Q.

“I didn’t know you had been married.” Q’s eyes were sad, apologising. “You told me about her. About your courtship. And this place. Not with an address. Nothing about this is in your files.”

The last was said in a slightly accusing tone.

“I most certainly hope not! I had asked Boothroyd to clean the files a long time ago.”

No need to alert any nosy MI6 people to one of the few places where he could stay in peace.

“Oh. Yes of course. Boothroyd.”

Bond frowned. Something sounded off when Q mentioned Boothroyd. Q fell silent, thinking. Bond had to prompt him again.

“And?”

“Oh, oh well, at first I thought, this Alec guy would be the better option. The way you talked about him sounded as if you guys were,” Q made some obscure movements with his hands towards Bond. Bond looked at him, puzzled. “Well, as if you had been involved somehow. ‘Best friends’,” Q indicated the quotes. “Then, when I found that Trevelyan was undercover, leading one of these Russian Tro–What?”

Bond was choking on his coffee. He had slammed the mug on the table, earning a reprimanding look from Lesia. Now, he tried to get his breath back. He pushed his chair back and leaned down on his knees. He felt as if he was going to hyperventilate.

Alec was alive! That bloody bastard was alive!

“How?” was all Bond could gasp out.

Q looked nervously between Bond and Lesia, who just lifted an eyebrow, clearly indicating her displeasure with Bond’s antics.

“Uhm, he kind of went undercover after the GoldenEye incident?”

“But,” Bond looked at his quartermaster as if seeing him for the first time. The sleep tousled black hair, his green eyes behind heavy framed glasses, the old t-shirt, which Roccu had found for him the night before. How could this young slip of a man come here, in his sanctuary, and–and turn his world upside down?

“Yes, yes, you killed him, saw it with your own eyes, blah, blah, blah. How often, Bond, how often have you been declared dead and gone? And Trevelyan had help, not only from the Russians. You know. Boothroyd and M, your very own M, she was in on it as well.”

Q sat back, as smug as he apparently felt, he couldn’t hide his concern for Bond. Lesia provided some hot tea, nodding at him to continue. She was probably as curious as Bond. Except. Except she had no idea who they were talking about. What they were talking about. Why would M, why would Boothroyd have kept this from him?

“I could find Trevelyan’s file among Boothroyd’s–uhm,” again, Q paused, and Bond got the distinct feeling, Q was hiding something from him. “Well,” Q continued, “Trevelyan is the leader of one of these Russian troll factories. You know, you almost got him for good. Boothroyd had probably thought you wouldn’t be able to align the antennas in time–or you would try to save Trevelyan. Anyway, he is in a wheel chair now. And still undercover, which was why I thought, Tracy and this place were the better option.”

Bond rubbed his face with both hands, before he sat back up straight.

“Who,” he cleared his throat, took a deep breathe. “Who else knows about Alec?”

“Uhm,” now Q looked decidedly guilty. “I might have scrubbed him from MI6’s official files, before I came here.”

Bond frowned at him.

“It’s just. Mallory doesn’t know about Trevelyan. That he still works undercover, that is. Trevelyan has left updates on his mission on a special server, you know. Only. Well, only Boothroyd knew about that one. And M. It hasn’t been used by anyone but Trevelyan since M, uhm, since Boothroyd died in that blast. I checked the logs.”

Q drank some of his tea, glancing at Lesia, who stood with her back to the dishes, arms crossed and very obviously enjoying herself. When Bond took his mug, Lesia seemed to finally take pity with him and filled it with hot coffee. It had to do for now, Bond thought. He needed more information before he could drink himself into oblivion. By himself, this time. No need to spill more secrets to snooping quartermasters and unfriendly cooks.

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

_Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run._

_“What about your drink?”_

_Run._

_“You can keep it.”_

_Running._

 

_White noise._

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

_Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run._

 

_White noise._

 

_“You can keep it.”_

_Running._

 

_White noise._

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge…_

 


	3. Chapter 3

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

_Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run._

 

_White noise_

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

 

_White noise_

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge…_

 

Bond looked out of the small window of the plane. He was angry. Plain angry with the bloody stubborn boffin sitting one seat over in the business section of this plane. Watching suitcases and bags being loaded, Bond reflected upon the last hours. How his day had made a turn sideways after the reveal of Alec being alive. How Q just went back to his room to get a file and present it to Bond. How Bond had just sat there, dumbfounded. Daniel Edward Holt, it said on the front page of the file.

“I want you to find him. He lives in London. Even got an address. He studies at the university.”

Bond had looked disbelieving at Q.

“What about Alec?”

Q had just frowned at him.

“Bond, right now, Danny is our priority. I need him. As soon as possible.”

With that, the little shit had just turned and walked back to his room, to get dressed it turned out. Annoyed, Bond had stayed in the kitchen, skimming through the file, and getting more and more upset. What on Earth did Q need this kink-loving junkie for? Was he a lost twin? Nothing in his resume gave any indications as to why this druggie should have been interesting to MI6 in the first place. Especially to someone like Q or Boothroyd. Flipping through the file, Bond stopped at one point and began actually reading. By then, Marc Ange had joined him in the kitchen for a light lunch. Lesia had side-eyed Bond, who had forgone any food, too caught up in the file and his mounting anger at his former quartermaster. Make that quartermasters. The more he had read, the more he got confused. Why would Boothroyd put a nobody like this Danny guy through the wringer? Discrediting him in the media was one thing and easily done, but infecting him with HIV? Playing mind games with him? Bond wondered briefly, if this was a quartermaster thing–picking a random guy and harass him as much as humanely possible for one of their experiments? And Q just wanting to continue what Boothroyd had started? Then a new name popped up, accompanied by a detailed account of his murder. Scottie! Alec’s and his original instructor, the man who taught them their first moves in the world of espionage. Why would Boothroyd kill him? Because he was friends with this Danny? Why would someone like Scottie be friends with Danny in the first place? When Q returned, a deep frown on his face and fiddling with his mobile, Bond had been unable to contain his anger about the situation.

“What on Earth is–“

“We need to return now, Bond. The interval is getting shorter. No time to linger and discuss things.”

Q had cut him off, reckless enough to motion him into action. Not only had he packed his own bag, he had obviously been in Bond’s room as well, placing a small suitcase in front of him.

“I am not MI6 any longer, Sidney!”

Bond’s use of Q’s real name got a reaction. Just not the one, he had anticipated.

“Exactly, James! That’s why I’ve tried to find you in the first place. Mallory and Six don’t know about this. I’ve booked the plane,” Q had a full body shudder at this point. “We will have to leave now, the plane departs in two hours. I hope, your friend,” Q indicated Marc Ange at this point, “would take us to the airport?”

“Sidney! I. Am. Not. Going. Anywhere. If Alec is alive and somewhere in Russia, I want all the intel you got on him. After that, I may be persuaded to help you with this junkie of yours.”

Q had the audacity to look surprised. Then his frown deepened and he shook his head.

“James, I don’t have time for your shenanigans. Once we’ve got Danny, Alec will be next. I need to get back to London as fast as possible and we need to get–“

“Give me Alec, or forget about me being involved in any of this.”

Q had paused, then. Before he could reply, Marc Ange cleared his throat.

“I still have my contacts in Russia, James.”

“You, you would–?”

Surprised, Bond had turned to his father-in-law.

“James. Of course I would. I know, he means a lot to you. Remember?”

Of course Bond remembered. After GoldenEye, Bond had stayed here, trying to comprehend the loss of his best friend. The perceived betrayal. Getting back to MI6 had proved to be harder than ever. Marc Ange had listened to him, had let him rage and cry for days without judgement.

“I can mail you the details and help you, once I’m back in London.”

The last word had been emphasised and followed up by a pointed look at Bond. When Bond turned to Marc Ange for help, all he got was an amused smile and a shrug. Bloody unhelpful, the lot of them!

Now, Q and Bond were waiting for the departure of the plane. Q had fallen silent once they reached the airport. Bond had felt no need to start or maintain a conversation, seething in silence as well.

With the last bags disappearing into the belly of the plane, Bond turned to glare at Q. Only, to have his anger vanishing into thin air when he took in the sight before him. Q was tense. All colour had vanished from his face, his eyes were shut tight, his hands were clenched around the armrests, and he was breathing too fast. Bond closed his eyes, shaking his head. This impossible man! Standing up against a deadly assassin, but panicking about flying even before the plane had started moving. With a sigh, Bond opened his seatbelt, nodded at the flight attendant, and changed his seat to sit right next to Q. Putting the belt on, he began quietly talking to Q. There was no reaction.

Bond continued his monologue, talking about Tracy, the love of his life; about Alec, his best friend; the betrayal, which had changed everything for him. Bond pried Q’s hand from one of the armrests, holding the fist in his hands. He leaned closer, explaining about the importance of his latest quartermaster. How he had trusted him from the very first moment they had met in the gallery.

“Breathe with me, Q,” Bond whispered in his ear.

Q tried to suppress a sob, a hitch in his breath.

“Breathe in, Q.”

Bond counted.

“Breathe out.”

Q gasped, but eventually began to follow Bond’s lead. His eyes were still closed, but he unclenched his fist, intertwining his fingers with Bond’s hand, leaning slightly towards him.

“Breathe in.”

Bond continued his counting, grounding Q in the repetitiveness and simpleness of the task. Using his voice to soothe and calm him.

When the plane started moving, Q tensed up again, his fingers squeezing Bond’s, his breathing becoming shallow and fast once again.

“Easy, Q. Listen to me.”

Now, Bond’s voice was commanding. He shot the flight attendant a glance, when she started the safety demonstration. She nodded back at him, thankful for his help with the troubled passenger. When the captain called the cabin crew to take their seats, Q started to tremble violently. One hand curled around Q’s fingers, Bond pulled Q into an embrace with his free arm. He held him tight when the plane began accelerating, still counting, grounding him. Q turned his head into Bond’s chest, seeking the solace and comfort offered freely to him. At the lift off, Q whimpered silently. The plane was climbing steeply, and Q’s shaking became worse. After what probably felt like hours for Q, the plane levelled out, and Bond could feel Q relax ever so slightly in his arms. Without thinking, he pressed a chaste kiss into the dark curls, pushed in under his chin. Surprised, Bond heard Q respond with an appreciating sigh. The trembling subsided into a slight shiver. Encouraged, Bond continued to nuzzle into Q’s hair. It felt nice. Soft. And Q seemed to savour the attention, relaxing even further, trying to burrow deeper and closer into Bond’s embrace. They stayed that way, until the food was served. Bond kept his seat next to Q’s, keeping close enough to touch, grounding Q with small caresses and easy jokes.

When the plane started its descent, Q looked directly at Bond, the fear all too apparent in his eyes. Bond winked at him, closing his hand around Q’s, pulling him into a tight hug once again.

“I’m here, Q. Trust me.”

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

 

_White noise_

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile._

 

_White noise_

 

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

 

_White noise_

 

_Running._

_Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge…_


	4. Chapter 4

_Running._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Watching._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

 

_White noise._

 

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

 

_White noise._

 

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

 

_White noise._

 

Danny stood in the shadows of the column. Two more days and it would have been their anniversary. Three years since their very first meeting. Danny coming down from a drug induced high, a night of clubbing and casual sex. He remembered his loneliness, back then. How he had stood right here, facing the river, mobile in his hand, ready to throw it. Ready to jump. He looked over the parapet at the dark water below. It still held an unspoken promise of peace, of letting go and giving himself over to the nothingness beyond.

Dawn was breaking. Only a few more hours, and the street behind him would become a bustling river of its own. Filled with busses and cars, people on their way to or from work; tourists using their mobiles to find the next destination; the odd cyclist. He would be back in hiding by then, taking his precautions before venturing out to the university. As always, he would be hiding in the shadows, vanishing in the crowd.

Danny closed his eyes and willed his mind back to that night, almost three years ago. How he had tried to reach at least one of his friends and failed. How he was about to throw the mobile, then turning in the last minute, losing and shattering it in front of him on the pavement. The sound. Thump, thump, thump. Danny smiled a small, desperate smile. He could almost hear Alex running. Crossing the bridge. Coming to a stop behind him, a bit out of breath.

“Mister Holt? Danny Holt?”

Danny’s eyes flew open, every single muscle in his body tensed, ready to run. He did not turn around. Just stood still, fighting down the bile in his mouth, forcing himself to stay calm. His hands, hidden in the pockets of his black hoodie, were grasping the fabric as if trying to hold on to reality, on to something tangible. In his mind’s eye, he recalled the agony of the past two years. Finding Alex dead, his decaying body hidden in the trunk; being framed for his murder; the papers smearing their relationship; Frances and her manipulations; everybody telling him lies about Alex; and then, Scottie. Danny failed to suppress a sob. A part of him wondered about the length of time gone by. All of these experiences together felt like a fraction of a second compared to their very first meeting now almost three years ago.

 _Who knows_ , he thought, _this might be my last dawn. And whatever else they might want to throw my way, it will never take away my time with Alex._

He blinked a few times at the first rays of the sun rising in the East. Breathing in deeply, savouring the taste of the city, the river, the dawning day, and he finally turned around. He was ready to face them and their machinations.

The man in front of him stood patiently waiting on the pavement, taking a step back in surprise when he saw Danny.

“You _do_ look like him!”

Danny had no time to think about that puzzling statement. Seeing the man in grey sweat pants and jumper, Danny let out a small gasp, hiding his mouth behind his right hand. All he could see was Alex. Alex in the same clothes that night. Alex crouching down in front of him.

_“Are you okay?”_

_His voice had been concerned._

_“Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine.”_

_Danny had tried to put on his mask, to avoid a spiteful remark, to prevent pity showing in the beautiful eyes of this man. How was it possible, that this person, who he had never seen before... How were they the only person in the whole world that knew… That he was not OK. And he had given him his bottle, before he stood again and began to walk away._

_“What about your drink?”_

_Alex had turned and answered._

_“You can keep it.”_

Danny swallowed, tried to blink the sudden wetness in his eyes away. He had to regain some sort of control or they would be able to push him over in no time. As much as he had tried to carve out a new life for himself, most of it was still new and unknown territory. Rituals and rules, he was learning painstakingly slow, while people around him just assumed, he knew what he was doing. He had believed that they would leave him be, now, that Scottie was dead, and he had lost his last ally.

“Danny, we don’t have much time,” the man said in a low voice, a concerned frown on his face. “I’ve a car parked on the other side of the bridge. No CCTV. Follow me over there.”

Danny looked confused when the man began to jog along, not even looking back and checking whether he followed or not.

Then, Danny surprised himself by slowly walking after the unknown man. He was still checking for CCTV, looking down and hiding his face when he passed the few other people, who were out this time of day. He saw the man entering a small car, and a few moments later Danny slipped in on the passenger seat. He put on the seatbelt, then shoved his hands back into his pockets. No need to parade his nervousness.

The man put the car into gear and drove off. A few minutes passed in silence.

“Bond, James Bond,” the man said and turned to Danny. “Just call me James.”

His eyes were tired, but smiling. That was new. Danny gave a small nod in return.

“I’m sorry about the clothes. My,” James paused. “My friend thought it would help convince you to come with me.”

Of course the man had noticed Danny’s shock. Danny kept his silence. James had driven off without locking the car doors. The car was nothing like the others, he had been abducted in. If this even was an abduction. They fell quiet for the rest of the journey, a half hour drive through streets slowly beginning to fill with other motorists. James parked the car, then looked apologising at Danny.

“We’ll have to walk a few blocks. Best keep your head down, we don’t want to alert anyone of you–or me being here.”

James added the last part quietly. They got out of the car and walked side by side this time, and again, Danny felt a sting in his heart.

_“Are you... Are... Hehheh.”_

_God, he had felt awkward. And giddy. And happy._

_“I’ve run out of questions. Erm…”_

_Yes, totally awkward._

_“Ask me. Please.”_

_That voice! Danny had been overflowing with emotions, he couldn’t yet name._

_“Are you out?”_

_“No. If you want to go, I can understand that reaction.”_

_Go? No way. If anything, he had felt like he wanted to jump Alex there and then._

_“I don't want to go.”_

_Never. He had not wanted to leave Alex then, or any time later. And he had missed him ever since that evening in the attic._

James indicated a small house, one in a long row of similar buildings, two floors high. This one had additional windows set in its roof. Two steps led up to the front door, and James opened it to let Danny in. They were standing in a narrow corridor, stairs on one side and an open door on the other end.

“We have to get up under the roof,” James pointed upwards.

“James, did you get him?”

A posh voice shouted from up above in way of a greeting. Danny’s surprised look was met with a shrug. They started to climb the stairs.

“Of course I got him. We’re coming up now.”

“Bloody git.”

Now, James was grinning.

“He has tried to get hold of you the past two weeks, before he got in touch with me to help him,” James explained.

“Oh, so it was him.” Danny said, now almost on the top of the stairs. “I’d noticed someone following me.”

“YES!”

James and Danny looked at each other, both alarmed, then the other man came jumping out of the room under the roof, arms lifted in wild agitation. Danny’s eyes felt like they would popped out of their sockets. He had to hold on to the banister, looking at a mirror image of himself. Take away the glasses and change the hipster clothes to some of his rumpled ones, and this man would pass as his identical twin anytime.

“You _do_ look like me!”

The man looked appreciatively at him.

“Danny, meet Sidney Perce. Sidney,” James threw a pointed look at the other man. “Sidney, meet Danny Holt.”

“Uhm,” Sidney actually blushed. “Yes, sorry. But, Bond, it’s working. And in the nick of time. The interval had been down to mere nanoseconds. You have to see this. Danny,” Sidney was grabbing his arm and pulling him into the room.”Danny, say something. Anything.”

Danny stumbled over some electronics on the floor, before he regained his balance. A look around the room revealed that it was larger than expected. Several lofts must have been build into this one. Scattered around the place were large wooden boxes, letters and signs branded into the wood. Some were open, revealing wires, small metal boxes, and other inexplicable gadgets to him. Sidney was pulling him towards a row of large computer screens, set beside a wall, which closed off a part of the room, hiding whatever it was behind it. There were more boxes stacked along the sloping walls of the roof. Despite the very few and small windows, the room was bright and felt almost homely. Probably the furniture, a few chairs, coffee tables, and arm chairs helped. The chairs in front of the screen were well worn.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said. “I don’t know what to say.”

The reply was a shriek from Sidney, who pointed excitedly at the screens. Even Danny could see something was happening. Lines of code, green against the black background, were flowing over the screens. Every screen seemingly showing a different part of the programme, if it was a programme. While Danny was looking at the screens, wondering what he in fact was looking at, everything slowed down and came to a halt.

“Say something, Danny.”

Sidney was practically vibrating beside him.

“Why? Why would–“

Danny stopped mid-sentence, because the screens turned alive again. Only to stop a few seconds later. Danny looked at Sidney, then at James, hoping someone would explain what was going on.

“Sidney, you have to explain what we’re looking at. I think, Danny deserves to know.”

“I think, uhm,” Sidney looked at James for help.

Danny just felt more and more confused. Another pointed look, and Sidney deflated a bit.

“Okay, I’ll, well, Danny, I’m going to show you. But, uhm. Don’t be alarmed. It looks, or you might. Well.”

“Sidney. Now.”

“Okay.”

Sidney once more grabbed Danny’s arm and pulled him forward around the corner.

In front of him was a small bed.

“Alex.”

Danny might have shouted, might have whispered the name. He didn’t know and didn’t care. He took the three steps and sank down beside the bed, finding Alex’s hand and taking hold of it. Alex stayed silent and still, his hand pliable in Danny's.

“Alex,” this time Danny whispered his name. “What is wrong? What did they do to you?”

He held onto Alex’ hand, but turned away from him, looking pleadingly at Sidney and James. Sidney was engrossed in his screens, the lines of code coming alive again and mirrored in his glasses. James grabbed a chair and placed it at Alex’s bedside.

“Sit down, Danny. This is going to be one long story. I’ll go and get some tea and sandwiches.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Danny heard James say something. The other man, Sidney, was answering.  A commotion when furniture was moved. The words and sounds were lost in the chaos of his mind. Sitting here, right next to Alex, being able to touch him. He fought back the tears, the emotions which came crashing down. More than two years since he had climbed the ladder to the attic. The stench of rot when he had opened the trunk. When an eye had stared back at him. Soulless. Dead.

“I’m here, Alex.”

He was whispering, leaning in close. Trying and failing to elicit a response from the still figure in the bed. The hand in his hand felt wrong. Cold. Lifeless. With a growing sense of panic, Danny began to search for any signs of life. His free hand roamed over exposed skin. His fingers trailed up along Alex’s neck, further along pronounced cheek bones. There was a white patch attached to his temple, a thin wire leading away from his body. Danny was unable to find a pulse, not even the slightest hint of breathing.

“He isn’t breathing!”

With his hand still holding Alex’s, Danny turned to Sidney, who was sitting behind a row of computer screens. James was nowhere to be seen.

“Hm?” 

“HE IS NOT BREATHING!”

Danny was frantic now.

“Oh.” Sidney blinked at him. “That’s perfectly normal.”

“Normal?”

Sidney returned to his screens without any further explanations. Danny was stunned. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he turned back to Alex. He took his hand and laid it down slowly on the white duvet. A last caress, reverently. Then he stood and turned towards the row of screens. He wanted to shield Alex from this world, from the electric humming of the machines, the wires, the technology apparently monitoring him to no avail. His right hand wiped away the wetness from his face, before he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“Is this another lie?” His voice was low, determined. “Why? What is this to you?”

Danny was shaking now. He could see Sidney frowning as he reluctantly turned his attention away from whatever was happening on the displays in front of him.

“Sorry? A lie? In what way?” Sidney looked at him slightly confused, then shook his head.

“ Sit down and hold his hand.”

Gobsmacked by the terse command, Danny promptly sat down.

“This is not helping!”

Sidney sounded frustrated. Danny opened his mouth, but shut it again without replying. Another pointed look at him over the rim of Sidney’s glasses had Danny turning back to Alex, taking his hand into his. 

“Alex, please, I don’t understand. What is happening? What are they doing to you?”

He pressed his lips on unresponsive fingers, unable to hold back the tears, unable to control the trembling of his body, the sob that escaped him.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Sidney sounded pleased, only adding to Danny’s increasing confusion and anxiety. He continued to wipe away his tears, clinging to Alex’s hand like it was a matter of life or death.

“I don’t understand,” he repeated over and over, whispering under his breath, desperately trying to make any kind of sense of the situation. 

The repetitive mumbling became a chant, partly calming Danny, even as he was unable to hold back the tears and small sobs.

“What did you do?” 

Danny flinched, not daring to look behind him. It was James, returning from where he had been. He sounded angry.

“Q?”

The sound of a tray being put down hard on the small coffee table beside Alex’s bed.

“Care to tell me, what is going on?”

It was said to the other man.

“Bond, you’re not supposed to–”

“For fuck’s sake, Q. Don’t you think, he has figured it out by now?”

Whatever it was, Danny was supposed to have figured out, Sidney being called Q most definitely didn’t help figuring out anything about the current situation.

“Have you told him? Explained about–about Alex?”

James really did sound angry, Danny thought nervously.

“No?”

Sidney or Q or whatever he called himself gave a rather meek reply.

“But, look, James, look at the code. It’s recovering.”

“Nice,” it was said with dripping irony. “Now, Q, turn the bloody monitors around, sit down, and explain this stuff to Danny. Tea and sandwiches are ready. And you better use plain English, not your tech mumbo jumbo. I didn’t understand half of what you were trying to tell me yesterday.”

Danny risked turning around, clasping his fingers tight around Alex’s. James was standing beside Q, arms crossed and looking pointedly at the small table and chairs standing next to Danny. Q looked chastised and began moving the computers and keyboards as James demanded. The sandwiches on the tray smelt and looked delicious, and the arrangement of mugs, plates, and teapot was neatly done, and had somehow survived the hardhanded set down earlier.

The rearranging took a few minutes. James had taken one of the other chairs and was serving tea and sandwiches for Danny, who avoided to look at Q. He took the offered mug and put a few spoonfuls of sugar into it. His hand trembled a little bit when he took the first sip, closing his eyes at the bliss of sweetness and warmth. The sandwich was heavenly, Danny just realising how hungry he was. 

A few moments later, Q sat down, turning so he could keep an eye on the monitors. There were four of them. Three displays filled with lines of code, changing and new lines appearing all the time. The last screen was dark, only a small cursor blinking at its top left side. Danny had no idea, what he was looking at.

“Okay,” Q took his own mug of tea, the Earl Grey spiced with a touch of lemon, “James and I, well, I am the quartermaster of MI6.”

Danny almost choked on his tea. MI6! Scottie had been right all along. And now he was here, alone, in the lion’s den, with no way to rescue Alex from them.

“No need for alarm, Danny,” James shot Q an angry glance. “You’re safe. Alex is safe.”

Q squirmed in his seat, looking guiltily at James.

“Do you remember the explosion? More than a year ago? When MI6’s old building was destroyed?”

Danny nodded. He did remember. It was a few weeks after Scottie’s funeral. Just days after he and Frances had parted ways.

“The old quartermaster, he had a lot of unfinished projects and gadgets in the work when it happened. He died and I was brought in as head of Q-branch." 

James seemed satisfied with Q now, leaning back in his chair and drinking his tea. Still, there was a certain tenseness about him, as if he was ready to jump into action any time if need be.

“The boxes and crates up here,” Q waved a hand around the room, “they’re all from back then. A few of them have scorch marks, others were destroyed or too damaged, to be of any use." 

Danny glanced around him. Maybe that’s what James had meant with ‘figuring it out’? If he had looked closely, he could have seen the ‘top secret’ signs branded into several of the wooden boxes.

“During the past few months, I had finally time to begin opening and cataloguing the boxes. Most of the documentation had been destroyed in the explosion. A few interesting things turned up, some projects were abandoned before fully developed, others were prototypes for later gadgets.” 

Q had watched the monitors, now he turned to face Danny.

“When I opened one of the larger crates,” he took a big gulp from his mug before continuing. “I found–him.”

Q looked at Alex. Danny stared at Q.

“He was curled up in the box. Naked. A folder stuck on the inside of the box.”

The room was silent, except for the humming of the machines.

“I wondered how a dead body could be stored for such a long time, without–I mean, the box had been in here for several months. But,” again, Q paused. “As you said, Danny. He is not breathing. But he is not decaying either.” 

“Who was in the trunk? Up in the attic?” Danny whispered, afraid to ask, too afraid not to ask.

“Probably a homeless bugger, unfortunate not to be missed by anybody. Boothroyd was thorough in his coverup.”

James voice was cold and even. The code flashed on the screens, some lines turning red. Q was on his keyboards in an instant. It was obvious something was very wrong.

“I told you not to say his name,” Q hissed at James. “Speak to him, Danny. Calm him down.”

Danny blinked at Q, not understanding. James was perfectly calm, Danny thought. After a moment, Q indicated Alex with a nod of his head, clearly exasperated about Danny’s slow respons. Frowning and as confused as before, Danny turned towards Alex.

“I, I really don’t know what is going on, Alex. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to help.”

“You’re helping, Danny. Look at the screens.”

James was speaking quietly, reassuringly leaning forward in his chair. The code lines were back to normal. Danny’s mind not so much. Everything was just becoming more bemusing.

“This man, James mentioned,” Q said, glaring at James, “he was the late quartermaster, and he is the one who put you through the wringer.”

Danny stared at Q, then James. The latter gave a smal, affirmative nod.

“Why? Why would he–what did I do?”

Q took a deep breath, and worried his lower lip before speaking.

“You fell in love with the wrong man. And, and Alex most definitely fell in love with the wrong man.”

Q looked down, considering, before he continued.

“Alex is not human, Danny.”

Before Danny could say anything or even react, Q pressed on.

“He is a humanoid. A–a robot with very advanced artificial intelligence.”

Danny gaped at Q. His mind went utterly blank. Of all the things–no. Alex was a machine?

“You see, the quartermaster had been developing the software over several years. The folder I found with Alex was documenting the development process and–”

Q looked at the code and back at Danny. Danny was unable to utter a word. He could only watch and listen, feeling like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming train. Alex was a machine.

“He had meticulously written down what happened the night, Alex was,” Q swallowed, “Alex was shut down.” 

Danny felt tears welling up again. He looked at Alex, who was so horribly silent and still.

“The last words, Alex said, were your name, Danny.”

The fingers in Danny’s hand made a small movement.  Danny gasped. 

“Alex moved! He moved! Alex!”

Q was on the code in an instant, while James nodded appreciatively at Danny, who couldn’t tear his eyes away from Alex. Hope. There was hope! How long since he last had hoped for something. He wanted Alex to move, to breathe, something, anything. But nothing more was happening. When he turned back towards James and Q, he held Alex’s hand in both his hands, as if he could protect him from the rest of the world. Keep him safe.

“If I have understood Q correctly last night, then this is all your doing, Danny. Apparently, our late quartermaster only did so much of the basic coding and mechanics. Once Alex was–how do you call it, Q? Online? Operational?” Q only gave a huff, engrossed in the new lines of algorithms appearing on his screens. “Well, once his basic functionality was working, he began to reprogram and develop himself.”

“Singularity, Danny!” Q sounded immensely excited, not taking his eyes off the screens. “Alex is self-aware! He is able to create new modes of being, of functionality–“

Q’s voice trailed of, too focussed on whatever was happening with the code right now. When nothing further was said, James continued, shaking his head.

“This is Q’s dream come true, I guess. The point is, Danny,” James looked directly at Danny now, elbows resting on his knees. “The point is, Alex had anticipated the shut down. Booth–, the old quartermaster saw your relationship as a failure of his project.” James sat back, as if distancing himself from what he was about to say. “He was one of the last homophobes, Six hadn’t gotten rid off yet.” 

“Scottie,” was all Danny could utter.

Another kind of sadness returned. The friends he had lost over the past two years. Friends, he couldn’t contact, fearing he would compromise their safety.

“Yes, Scottie. Damn shame, that was. And to blame on him as well.” 

Danny tried and failed to connect the dots. James used the silence to refill their mugs and let Danny come to terms with what was said. Not that it helped. His mind was in turmoil, his emotions all over the place. And yet, they kept telling him, that he was the important piece in this puzzle.

“You see, Alex knew this was going to happen. And he programmed a fail safe into the shut down procedure.”

James looked expectantly at Danny, only to be met with a blank face.

“When I found him,” Q broke in, now apparently finished with his examination, “and had realised what he was, I had to figure out, if he was still functional.”

All three of them looked at Alex.

“It had to be subtle, since he had to deceive the people who were trying to shut him down. It took some time, but I found the faintest traces of brain activity.”

“Brain? But you said–“

“Yes, Danny. He has a main processor, if you rather want to call it that, and while everything else was literally dead, I was able to detect an electrical current–it was a pulse, a short interval. When I found it two weeks ago, the interval was lasting about one minute. It deteriorated fast. You see, Alex probably expected to be found by someone, maybe Scottie, maybe some other minion–and kept a small part of his processor working for you to restart him. Only problem was, he never expected it to take two years for you to find him, I guess.”

Smiling, Q nodded at Danny. Danny felt like he had been stabbed in his heart. This was all his fault. If only he had started looking for Alex, instead of fooling around with the papers and Frances and the lie detector programme. He was utterly useless. Shaking his head, he tried to regain some kind of footing. This was all so confusing.

“Me? But–how am I supposed to do that? Alex knows I don’t know a thing about computers. We had to get hold of his professor to tell us–“  

Danny shut up, suddenly remembering where he was. This were MI6 people. Scottie had warned him.

“He gave you something, didn’t he?”

James said quietly. Danny swallowed. He could see that James knew.

“What?How do you–? When did he–? Was that why they were after him in the first place?”

It was Q’s turn to be surprised. 

“The old quartermaster had you under surveillance. The file you gave me, Q. The last time you were with Alex, Danny, when he turned up the radio, he told you something, didn’t he?”

Danny felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. 

“How do you know?” He whispered, terrified.

“I once was a spy, Danny. Not any longer.” Q threw James a wry look. He just smirked at him, before continuing. “He hid something only for you to find, didn’t he? And you have found it.”

The last part was said with a nod towards Danny’s chest. Unconsciously, he had moved one of his hands towards the cylinder, hidden under his t-shirt.

“It’s useless,” Danny said, pulling the object up and out into the open. “They had erased everything on it.” 

Q looked like the proverbial cat about to jump the canary. 

“By taking a photograph of you?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the cylinder.

“Ye-es?”

Danny was creeped out by these two guys. How could they know?

“May I?”

Q held out his hand, actually asking, not demanding. Danny hesitated before he turned the small digits into the opening code–000001–and unlocked the drive. Reluctantly, he handed it over to Q. He went to the other side of the monitors, retrieving a laptop. Pushing his mug and the tray to one side of the table, he made room for the computer. James looked at him, shaking his head in disbelieve.

“I thought, rebooting Alex would be enough to keep you occupied, Q.”

“You still haven’t explained how I can help Alex.”

Danny was looking from Q to James, pleadingly. 

“Oh of course, Danny. Again, if I have understood correctly, because, trust me, Danny, I find this as unnerving as you probably do. This has something to do with Alex reacting to you being close by. Q suspected you being this important to him, because it was the last thing he said. You know, as a clue for anybody who would realise how all of this is working.”

James looked at Danny. 

“Alex can hear and feel you, Danny. And he reacts to your name. Q ran a ton of tests and tried to track you down, before he came for me to help him.”

“Git!”

Q was too captivated by what he had found on the drive to really engage in any snark with James. Danny was lost in his own thoughts.

“But why me? Why not just anyone who found him? What if you hadn’t found me?”

“I guess, Alex wanted to live with you, Danny. And if you hadn’t found him–or hadn’t wanted to be with him–he would probably prefer to, well, die.”

Danny felt another small twitch in his hands.

“He loves me, doesn’t he?”

The tears were coming back. And the realisation that Alex hadn’t known, hadn’t been sure about Danny’s love for him. The memory of him almost sending Alex away. ‘Be with someone else, to see if you really love me.’ It had been the first time, he had seen Alex cry. Pleading Danny not to send him away. He had been such a fool, not realising how deep Alex had felt for him. Back then; right now. Stupid, stupid Danny, he chided himself.

“Alex,” Danny was leaning close, but there would be no more whispering. Not with this. It was too important. “I wish, I could’ve told you. But I didn’t know back then. The lies, the mistakes. And now this.” He had to pause, looking at the unmoving body in front of him. “ None of this matters, Alex. I love you, just the same. I love you. Still. Now. Knowing it all. Please, Alex, listen to me.”

Alex gasped, his body convulsing violently once, as he began to breathe. The first few breaths strained, loud. Then, the body relaxed, the breathing evening out. Danny was laughing and crying, his confusion and tension turned into joy, adrenalin pumping through his body. He had jumped up, still holding onto Alex’s hand. At the same time, the fourth screen sprang to life. Q shrieked as he saw the display change from black to grey. This time, no lines of code were shown, instead Danny saw an intricate network of numbers and lines, connected, evolving, with increasing complexity. 

“What the–?”

Q gaped at the screen. This time, Danny knew exactly what he was looking at.

“It’s Alex! It’s him. He is back!”


End file.
